Highwaymen
by Las Vegas Navarro
Summary: Death has no boundaries.
1. Chapter 1

Thursday had dawned bad and moved on to worse. A record heat wave currently swept LA and the city of angels was filled with cranky motorists and gun-toting devils. Don's weekly quota for dealing with the evil of the world had been met Monday, and unfortunately Tuesday and Wednesday continued the streak.

He was extremely thankful for the efficacy of his SUV's AC system as he pulled up to the scene. Colby and David were already there, speaking with uniforms and taking careful notes. As he wove through the maze of police cruisers, spectators and news vans, a tractor-trailer came into view. If the yellow police tape left little doubt, the coroner's van abolished the remainder: another death.

He alighted from his trusty steed and approached his team. Colby looked up and nodded in acknowledgement. He interrupted David mid-sentence to make introductions.

"Don, this is Detective Harrisford, scene commander, LAPD. Detective Harrisford, Special Agent Don Eppes, FBI." The detective held out his hand.

"Agent Eppes," he said, and Don shook his hand.

"Detective Harrisford. What've we got here?" The detective motioned them toward the back of the trailer.

"Something indescribable. Routine traffic stop for a broken taillight, the officer got that feeling and called in backup. Driver tried to assault the officer with a baseball bat, but he's the one in the back of that bus over there." Don looked where the detective motioned and saw a burly man, cuffed and unconscious. He whistled lowly.

"I'm not trying to sound arrogant here, but why did you call the FBI?" Detective Harrisford pointed at the license plate on the tractor.

"The tractor is from Alaska, and the trailer is licensed for the entire country. We have no way of knowing where this crime occurred. . ." Harrisford trailed off.

"And interstate crimes fall under Federal jurisdiction," finished Don. As they neared the back doors, Harrisford held up masks.

"Trust me," he said in response to Don's questioning glance. The three agents donned masks and the detective opened the doors.

Don was nearly driven back by the fetid wave released from the trailer. He pulled on his latex gloves and accepted the flashlight that Harrisford offered. He played its beam over the interior, and at first glance, estimated roughly forty bodies littering the floor. He took a steadying breath and looked at the detective.

"Coroner been in here yet?" he asked.

"No. We needed to wait until you got here." Don nodded and climbed into the back of the truck, Colby on his heels. They stepped gingerly over the bodies of several young women, some battered beyond recognition. It made Don's stomach lurch. By the smell, he knew that at least a portion of the women had been dead for the better part of a week. A movement to his left caught his eye.

"Rough estimate of forty-five, Don," said Colby as he rose from his crouch. "As near as I can tell, they're all women."

"Head out and call the coroner over. Put a call in to the Bureau for extra help. We're going to be here for awhile," replied Don. He played the flashlight's beam to his left, but saw nothing aside from the carnage arrayed in the trailer. He turned to leave and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Something was very, _very _wrong.

Heading for the back of the trailer, he moved the beam of the flashlight over the scene in a methodical grid pattern. Again, he sensed a movement to the left. He concentrated his search to that area, and was rewarded when he saw a hand twitch. Dropping to a crouch, he carefully moved limbs out of his way and began checking the bodies for vitals.

The third wrist he put his fingers to jerked. He hastily closed his hand over the arm and began to extricate the victim from the horrifying pile of human debris.

"Get the medics over here now!" bellowed Don over his shoulder. "We have a live victim! Harrisford, get in here and give me a hand!" The detective hopped aboard and hurried toward Don.

Don returned to his task. He followed the left arm to a shoulder and placed his fingers to the victim's carotid artery. The pulse, weak and thready, was there. He doubled his efforts and was rewarded when he was able to free her head and right shoulder. Harrisford held back the pile of dead with his body as Don gently pulled the victim free.

Her head lolled from side to side, and her eyes were fevered slits. Don pulled her to a clear section of floor and laid her down gently.

"My name is Don. We're going to help you. You're safe," he said as he shucked his jacket and began to wrap it around her. He looked out the door and saw the EMTs struggling to get through the mass of people and cars. "Let them through!" he yelled.

He returned his attention to the wounded woman. The right cross that connected with his jaw took him off guard and he fell back on his heels.

The woman screamed and tried desperately to back away from him. Harrisford saw what was happening and immediately tried to reassure the young woman.

"I'm a police officer. We're not going to hurt you," he soothed. She backed up until she met the side of the trailer. Don gathered himself quickly and approached her slowly. She cried out and struck at him again, but he saw it coming and dodged it. Harrisford kept talking calmly, trying to comfort the frightened young woman. Don took advantage of the momentary distraction and restrained her bodily.

The medics arrived and Don held the screaming, thrashing young woman as best he could while they tried to examine her. Finally, the strength born from her desperation failed, and the woman passed out. The medics started IVs and oxygen before they gently transferred her limp form to a gurney and wheeled her to the ambulance.

As the siren wailed into the distance, Don stood and rubbed his jaw. He hoped Friday was cancelled.


	2. Chapter 2

As it turned out, Friday was not cancelled. Matter of fact, it was much more promising than any of the other days of the week thus far. Don had been up most of Thursday night at the scene, escaping only to grab a shower and a change of clothes. As the first rays of light painted the sky to the east, the crime scene analysts announced that they had completed their sweep and that the bodies could be collected. It was the first time in recent memory that so many people from different departments had worked in tandem with nary a jurisdictional pissing match.

Detective James Harrisford nudged Don with his elbow and presented coffee. Don accepted gratefully and took a long swig.

"Police commissioner wants to speak with us." Don swallowed and looked askance at the detective.

"Beware LAPD bearing coffee," he joked. "When?"

"This is a direct quote: 'as soon as humanly possible. And if they aren't human, it had better be sooner!' That's a personal favorite of mine." Don groaned.

"Come, come, Macduff," teased Harrisford. They walked to the edge of the parking lot and got in the cruiser stationed there.

* * *

"So. We have forty-five Jane Does in the LA County Morgue and one in UCLA Medical Center, Agent Eppes?" Don sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

"You've hit the nail right on the head, sir." Los Angeles Police Commissioner Bart Rubicz fixed the FBI agent with a trademark stare. He stood up from his desk and peered out the floor-to-ceiling windows of his luxurious office high above the stench and disquietude of a city whose rising temperature was turning it into the proverbial pressure cooker. Don wondered if he was also expected to rise, but the commissioner whirled suddenly and slammed his hands forcefully down on the desk.

"I've got a city in the grip of weather phenomena and gangster activity. The last thing, the _absolutely last thing_ I need is a serial killer running around! So the next time we meet, Agent Eppes, I'd like one hell of a lot more than forty-five dead women and a comatose witness!" After his speech, the commissioner looked like a cherry tomato with a half-halo of white hair. He slumped heavily into his chair and waved them away. Don and Detective Harrisford did their level best to escape with their dignity and what was left of their respective hind-ends.

As the elevator went quietly down, Don eased his necktie loose and turned to the detective.

"You could have given me a little warning, Jim." Harrisford smiled and looked straight ahead.

"More fun this way," he said quietly.

* * *

Once safely away from the police commissioner and ensconced in his own turf, Don and his team set to poring over the information available to them. 

"Let's start with what we know. We have any ID on the driver?" asked Don.

"His name is Alfred Von Kagen. Out of Toronto, Ontario, he did a little time for burglary and grand theft, no violent priors, wanted by the RCMP for fraud. Got the ID from his prints, he's still unconscious," replied David.

"What motivates a career criminal to move from fraud to murder?" mused Colby.

"It's possible it was for prestige," answered Megan. "Maybe he was looking to trade in his petty background for a more dangerous resume."

"Still," continued Colby, "Alaska is a long way from Toronto. Must be a lot in prestige." The team was quiet, each lost in their own thoughts.

"I don't really think that's it," countered David. "He was nailed for crimes that have nothing to do with what he was hauling. He resorted to violence to protect the load when LAPD stopped him, but I think that had more to do with his monetary interest. He seems more like a worker bee; I don't think he had the brains for this one."

"Any progress on the names of the victims?" Don shifted gears.

"None we've heard about so far," answered Colby. "The one you found alive is still in surgery, and the doctors won't give us a straight answer about her prognosis," he finished.

"Prognosis," murmured Megan. "Big word for you."

"Reader's Digest," Colby retorted. "Try it sometime." David snickered at the banter of his teammates.

"Let's stay on point, here," snapped Don. At his team's surprised expressions, he sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"Coffee, anyone?" asked Megan gently. Don met her gaze gratefully.

* * *

"What an unholy mess," sighed Harrisford a few hours later. Don nodded his assent. The detective scanned the boards in the war room intently. The seconds ticked by quietly, each man leaving the other to his methodology. 

"Did your people have any luck with identifying the victims?" asked Harrisford.

"None whatsoever. Those prints are going to take a while to process," replied Don. "Your guys have anything more on the driver?"

"Sadly no. He's awake, but he's certainly not talking. Not asking for a lawyer, but not talking, either. We're stalemated at both ends and have no other recourse than to wait on CSU," returned Harrisford.

"Any guesses on their timeline?" asked Don. Harrisford let out a short, humorless chuckle.

"I expect we'll know before the end of the next millennia," he said sarcastically. "We'll just have to work with the bits and pieces we get, and hope we'll get smart or get lucky."

"That's just what we've got here. Bits and pieces of a bigger puzzle," considered Don.

"You think there's more to it, huh?" asked Harrisford.

"Follow me for a minute. From his record, this Von Kagen doesn't really seem like the type to take something like this on. He's also not the smartest page in the book. His last arrest for burglary was made at the scene; he tried to burgle a cop's house."

"Admittedly stupid," agreed Harrisford. "So?"

"It also demonstrates his lack of forethought, and I'd lay plenty on the likelihood that our guy's long on planning," continued Don. Harrisford's face suddenly lit up.

"And if Von Kagen's not calling the shots, then there's at least one more perp, and likely more vics," finished the detective. "My, my, Eppes."

"Well, the Bureau doesn't pay me those big bucks just because I'm pretty," kidded Don.

"Good thing," thought Harrisford somberly. "They wouldn't be getting their money's worth otherwise." Don nodded and grinned.

Both men turned when Colby burst suddenly through the door.

"Jane Doe's out of surgery and awake," he informed them breathlessly.


	3. Chapter 3

Though being faint of heart wasn't something he'd readily admit to, Colby Granger was extremely relieved when the black SUV stopped moving and the gearshift went from drive to park. His excited utterance in the field office had set in motion a string of events culminating in the hair-raising journey UCLA Medical center. Lights and sirens coerced most vehicles to either side of the roadway; those that didn't yield the right of way to the great black behemoth soon found themselves in ventricular fibrillation. Move after risky move was executed perfectly, but neither that knowledge nor sitting in the second row of seats assuaged Colby's apprehension one iota.

Don barely hesitated as he bolted out the door and across the parking lot. Detective Harrisford and Colby were mightily tested trying to keep up. As they took off across the parking lot at a trot, Harrisford nodded in Don's direction.

"He do this sort of thing often?" he asked. Colby shook his head.

"Too much coffee," he replied, his lack of breath shortening the response. They burst through the emergency room doors and caught up with the hard-charging Fed.

* * *

"I want an explanation, doctor. I don't want conjecture." The doctor in question was very nearly hiding behind the chart he held in his hands.

"A-agent, I've already-"

"Explanation, please." The tone was calm, eerily calm. The body language was another matter entirely.

"I was told that I had to speak with Dr. Martinsen. I asked for Dr. Martinsen, but I get you, Dr. . . . "

"Eckland," filled in the cowed young man.

"Dr. Eckland. Are you, or are you not familiar with the patient in question?" The good doctor gulped.

"I was present for rounds this morning," he began.

"Do you have detailed information about her condition?" pressed the agent.

"N-no, but Dr. Martinsen said that you'd only need to be updated about her status."

"Well, since you've spoken to Dr. Martinsen, you'll be able to find him with little or no difficulty, won't you?" concluded the agent. The doctor nodded and scurried away. The agent sighed and checked her watch for the fiftieth time that minute. A voice from behind startled her.

"Agent Reeves, I seriously doubt that Agent Eppes would approve of your abuse of medical students," said Detective Harrisford as he rounded the corner.

"I was doing no such thing. I merely applied the right persuasion to the situation," she returned with a tired smile.

"I told you she was a bully, Jim," said Don as he and Colby brought up the rear.

"As I recall, you sent me here to inform you as soon as she was out of surgery and prep her for questioning. Am I to infer that you really just wanted me out of your hair?" Though she was only kidding, Don saw her penetrating stare flicker to the surface, assess his reaction, and sink back down again. He found it quite disconcerting. A figure began approaching them just then, and Don was relieved to have something else to focus his attention.

The man walked quickly, one of his legs shorter than the other by just enough that it produced a somewhat gangling gait but furnished no other appreciable difficulties. When his face came fully into view, it was a livid mask. Don sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. If he didn't begin toning that little idiosyncrasy down, he was going to start eroding his skull away.

"What could possibly be so vitally important that it couldn't wait for me to take the elevator?" raged Dr. Craig Martinsen. Megan took a deep breath to reply, but Don beat her to the punch.

"Dr. Martinsen, my name is Don Eppes. I'm a Special Agent from the FBI and I desperately need to speak with that patient. We're-"

"That's all well and good, Agent," interrupted the doctor testily, "but she's just gotten out of surgery, major surgery, and exciting her is less than prudent at this juncture."

"I understand your position, doctor, but she's our only link in a very disturbing case and it is imperative-"

"You've exhausted all other possible witnesses?" Dr. Martinsen pointedly inquired. Don blew out his breath and his patience right along with it.

"We haven't questioned the other women we found with her yet. What would you suggest?" queried Don, his voice deceivingly calm. Dr. Martinsen took a deep breath with which to start another rant.

"I would suggest, Agent Eppes, that you go back to your handbook, review your protocols, and speak with one of those other women right now instead of barging into this hospital strong-arming me and my staff!" roared the doctor.

"I guess I've got the wrong floor, then. As I recall, the morgue is in the basement," returned Don coolly. The doctor had opened his mouth to continue the argument, but instead of forming words, it formed an O of surprise. He sighed in defeat.

"2419. Down the hall, third door on the left."

"Thank you," replied Don. He started down the hall with Harrisford at his side and his two agents bringing up the rear.

"Agent Eppes," called Dr. Martinsen. Don stopped and turned toward the doctor.

"Yes, doctor?"

"During her exam, the ER physician noted that her ear canals are severely scarred and she has indentations behind her ears indicative of hearing aids that relay sound to cochlear implants. You can talk to her all you want, but I doubt she'll be able to hear you." 


End file.
